Repose
by Starlight1534
Summary: AWE. Governor Swann finds repose in the land of the dead. What is going through his mind when he sees Elizabeth?


AN: This is a little different than what I usually write (that is, when I have _time_ to write), and I'm not quite sure how I feel about it. You'll notice it's written in present tense. I never purposely set out to write my stories that way, but it seems to happen more often than not. In this case, I decided to go with it. It seems to fit the mood. I don't know. Let me know what you think.

Disclaimer: Don't I wish...

* * *

"To die is landing on some distant shore."

- John Dryden

* * *

The darkness weighs heavily upon his consciousness. Confuses, blinds. Gradually he becomes aware of the rhythmic swaying that signifies he is at sea. It is not a place he has ever enjoyed. He loves the feel of earth beneath his feet, the steady land that anchors him. He longs for his home.

He opens eyes he does not remember closing and, all at once, his senses return to him. He confirms with a glance that he is, indeed, at sea, but the vessel he expected to find himself on is nowhere to be seen. He is, instead, in a tiny raft - a row boat. There are no oars that he can see, no persons beside him. The only thing he carries with him is a candle-lit lamp. It casts an ethereal glow across his surroundings, but does not penetrate far before the dark, choppy waves swallow it up.

The waves lap against the side of the boat. Rhythmic, soothing. He stares at the dark water intently, and in the face of the silence surrounding him, he almost wishes the waves would swallow him up as well.

It is then that he notices the other lights. Other boats.

The tiny flickers of light in the distance create an illusion of stars amidst a black sky. Hundreds of stars, lights, floating as idly as he. Despite their presence he feels a chill of loneliness. And underneath that loneliness, unexpectedly, lies a sense of… _calm_.

He does not immediately recognize how he came to be here. Cannot recall the specifics, or the reasons. He does not even know where _here_ is. Then the wave of memory washes over him, and he thinks himself a fool.

He should have known better, should have seen it coming. In fact, he had, he realizes, but was too senseless to follow his own advice.

Cutler Beckett was never a man to be trusted. He's known that almost as long as he's known the man. He had told Will Turner that much when the boy set out in search of Jack Sparrow. Return with Jack, Beckett had told him, and the charges against the young man and Elizabeth would be dropped. So he said. Governor Swann was not so naïve. With Will no longer of use, there would be nothing to prevent him from hanging them anyway. Once Beckett had what he wanted…_"No. We must find our own avenue to secure your freedom." _

And then, when the same scenario was put to _him_, by that very same man, that Lord who had no business bearing the title, he had jumped at the opportunity. "_Do what you can for my daughter."_

He supposes he made his mistake in thinking that Beckett would not run out of use for him.

He could not have been more wrong.

Too late, he regrets casting his allegiance with Beckett. Regrets, too, the countless execution orders he signed, the misuse of his office he willingly participated in to further that scoundrel's cause. Most of all, he regrets the knowledge that, despite his efforts, he would not, could not save his only daughter.

_Oh, Elizabeth…_

He remembers the last time he saw her. In the shadows of the carriage where he placed her, face set with determination, she looked like her mother. He could not save his wife, but he'd be damned if he would watch his only child die.

He should have trusted her.

_Her_. Not Beckett.

The irony of it leaves a bitter taste in his mouth.

Ardently, he wishes for one last chance to see her, to talk to her, to tell her how much he loves her. To apologize.

No sooner than he wishes it, he immediately regrets the action. To see her here could only mean one thing. He would not wish her death just to appease his conscience.

No. Not ever.

He is not a selfish man. He has only ever wanted his daughter to be happy. She had been, he realizes belatedly. Still could be. She has her whole life ahead of her - with Will. He has no doubt that Will's desire matches his own concerning Elizabeth. The boy had risked everything to save her, after all. His life, even.

Funny, he thinks. Maybe they had more in common than either one of them realized. Perhaps that's the real reason he so easily gave their union his blessing. Had he seen some of himself in Will Turner? Subconsciously, was he aware of their mutual qualities – aware enough to know Elizabeth would be well taken care of?

His wife would have thought so. She was always so observant.

He thinks about his wife then, until the thoughts inevitably lead to the day she died. Then he thinks of nothing.

And so he drifts, oblivious.

It is some time before consciousness returns to him, in the form of Elizabeth's anguished cry: "Father!"

Hearing her voice here, now, cuts through his trance like a knife to his heart.

"Elizabeth?" He can hardly believe it. She's standing on a ship, the _Black Pearl_, he surmises as he takes in the presence of that pirate who insists on being called captain. Not far from him, stands Will Turner, looking tense, and though the boy's eyes are on Elizabeth, he can read the concern in his expression. Concern is reflected in his own visage, as well, when he voices the question that he's almost afraid to ask, for fear of the answer. "Are you dead?"

"No," her answer is the mere ghost of a word, barely audible, but the shaking of her head leaves little room for misunderstanding. Relief washes over him. He gives no thought to how she can be here, in the realm of the dead, and not be under its icy grasp. He simply takes her word for it. He trusts her, as he always should have.

"I think I am," he says, and realizes this is the first time he's acknowledged it, even to himself. Yet, still he retains that feeling of calm.

"No! You can't be!"

She's asking for an explanation, but he's so overwhelmed at just seeing her that, for a moment, he has trouble recalling. Then, "There was this chest, you see…" He draws a blank. The memory's still somewhat hazy. It's _there_, and yet he cannot see it. "It's odd," he marvels, mostly to himself. "At the time, it seemed so important."

But then, a lot of other things had seemed important as well. Amazing, the clarity death provides, how easily it shuffles one's priorities.

"Come aboard!" she calls.

He's still trying to wrap his brain around the specifics. Lost to almost everything but those final moments he spent on the other side of death. "And a heart," he remembers. "I learned that if you stab the heart, yours must take its place. And you will sail the seas, for eternity. 'The _Dutchman_ must have a captain…'"

The memory lingers once sought. He cannot erase the image of that beating organ, or the cruelty of the man in control of it.

"Silly thing to die for," he finishes serenely.

"Come back with us!" she yells.

He stares down in to the water, pushing aside any lingering feelings of regret.

Then, tossing a rope into his boat as she moves to keep pace with him, Elizabeth says "Take the line."

He meets her gaze. He loves her dearly, but he cannot grab the rope she's thrown him. He cannot go back to the world he left behind. He no longer wants to. "I'm so proud of you, Elizabeth," he says, determined not to waste the chance he's been given.

The rope slides across the frame of the rowboat, slipping further away with each passing second. He sits motionless, makes no move to grasp it.

"The line, take the line!" The desperation he hears in her voice is nearly enough to break him. But it does not break his resolve. He merely holds her gaze, telling her without words that he loves her, hoping she understands.

With cold finality, the rope slips over the edge of the boat. Splashes into the water with the merest of sounds. The sloshing waves swallow it greedily. The _Pearl_ moves farther away.

"Father! Please come with us! Please! I won't leave you!"

"I'll give your love to your mother, shall I?" He turns from her as Will reaches her.

He does not need to look back. He knows without looking that she is in good hands.


End file.
